Chapter Two
Zoey
I leaned against my cleaned-out locker, my heart racing. I couldn’t stop smiling. I’d done it. I’d earned the full ride scholarship to Stanford. On. My. Own. I didn’t need my father’s money or the family’s company name. I’d only needed the nearly-killed-me schoolwork and volunteering schedule I’d kept up for the last four years of my life.
Worth it.
I typed out a reminder in my phone to send Mrs. Rollins a cookie bouquet, and despite my happiness, another sharp pang hit my chest at the memory of Gordon’s face. He’d walked out of her office not ten minutes ago, his eyes slit and distant like he couldn’t see the students shuffling around in front of him.
I sucked in a deep breath and ignored the guilt eating my insides. I’d earned the scholarship. Every bit of it. And while I wished there would’ve been two, because he’d more than earned it as well, there wasn’t. It was out of my hands. Surely Gordon would find another way to pay for Stanford. His dad’s restaurant was always packed. They had to have a fallback plan. Or, if he was anything like me—which years of coming against him at every turn of competition said he was—then he had three fallback plans.
Besides, he couldn’t be mad. Not really. Not after he’d wished me luck on the first day of senior year. The same day he’d randomly asked if I was going to sign up for Bray’s crazy-pants drive to bring in comics for the library. I didn’t have any to donate, but I’d given her whatever was in my wallet to buy some to add to the meager collection the library had now.
Something tugged at my chest. When Gordon had stopped me in the hallway that day…I thought he’d wanted to talk. Like actually talk. No debates, no challenges, no traditional trading homes of Branch…just a casual conversation between enemies.
Well, not that dramatic, but we weren’t exactly friends. Though, in another life we may have been as close as Bray and Fynn. We liked the same activities, worked the same crazy hours, participated in the same events. Hell, we should’ve been BFFs by now, but the pressure of competition always kept us apart.
I’d tried and failed three times to bridge that gap—unable to resist the curiosity of what it would be like to be friends with someone who loved school and the thrill that came with winning as much as I did. But it never worked. I was always awkward or he was…there was just no easy way to turn the hot-brainiac-adversary into a friend. So we’d settled for a casual interaction whenever we ran into each other in a non-competitive situation.
Still, it didn’t stop me from noticing the hurt in those dark brown eyes of his, or the way his hair was mussed like he’d run his fingers through it too many times. Or the way his tight muscles coiled as he’d rounded the corner. Something was up, and it went beyond my win. Maybe I’d ask him about it later. Sure, we were still both going out for the internship at A&J—Mrs. Rollins had told me earlier that he was my competition—but school was over. Maybe that meant our decades-long enemy status was, too.
I froze when I heard my name called over the loud speakers, the principal informing everyone in the building of my accomplishment. Pride filled my chest as I darted into the girls’ bathroom. I slid into a stall, totally regretting the venti mocha I’d chugged before school.
“Ugh,” someone’s voice called outside the stalls. The sink turned on. “You know she got that full ride because she had the tech guys at her daddy’s company create the app for her, right?”
“Shut up,” another girl said. I could almost match a face to their voices, but not entirely.
“Totes serious.” The water shut off. “I mean, what is more believable? That the princess of Handler Organix designed an app on her own, or that she whirled a pretty polished finger and got a techy to do it?”
“You’re so right,” the other girl huffed. “Still,” she continued as I heard heels click toward the door. “I wish I had half what her family does.”
The last of their conversation was muffled as the door closed. Anger sizzled in my chest, but I took a deep breath to steady myself. I had half hoped that on the last day of school, the rumor mill would be closed. I mean, damn. It was bad enough I’d had to hear crap like that for years, but today? Graduation? Didn’t they have anything more interesting to talk about?
I finished my business and washed my hands at the sink, jerking the paper towels out of the holder a little harder than necessary. I’d worked on that app for months, and never once did I ask a tech for help. Not even at my father’s company. And now it was free for everyone to download—it was a program that streamlined the studying experience. Log in, type what subject of study you’re currently working on, and an algorithm puts together a special playlist that is scientifically proven to help you remember what you read.
It resulted in hours, weeks, months of hard work, research, and legal hoops to jump through to get to completion. Screw anyone who said the thing wasn’t bred out of my sweat and sacrifice. I wasn’t taking a single dime, wasn’t running ads on the app. It was solely out of my love of academics and the art of downloading information into your brain on every sensory level.
And it was what had won me the scholarship in the end, though I knew Gordon’s program had helped increase his father’s profit margins because he’d told me once in one of our post-competition conversations. I totally enjoyed those—win or lose—because he was always such a challenge. If I beat him at everything, it wouldn’t be nearly as fun to compete.
Now that high school was officially over, that was in the past—well, except for the internship. While I was desperate to earn it, a small part of me hoped he would win this round to make us even. Luckily, the interview processes were over and it was totally out of either of our hands now. Only things pending were background checks and their decision. Nothing more to worry about on that front.
Happy with that assessment, I made my way back to my locker, and glanced down at my cell as it vibrated. A new wave of tension tightened my airways as I swiped the screen.
“Dad,” I answered. “I’ve got exactly two minutes and ninety seconds before I’m due in the auditorium.”
“I know,” he said. “I’m calling to say your mother and I won’t be able to make it there. We were called in to the office. Sorry, pumpkin.”
“You own the company. How can you get called in?” My heart sank, but I held my spine straight. The Handlers didn’t cry. The Handlers kept their chin—and often their noses—held high. A little too high for my liking.
“Curse of running the most successful family organic products company on the west coast, pumpkin. We’ve both heard you practice your valedictorian speech a dozen times. It’s elegant and inspiring.”
And it will be my one shot at quashing the rumor mill. Elegantly, of course. I’d been practicing for weeks, before I knew if I’d been selected.
I’d already seen tons of parents filing into the auditorium—the ones who showed up early to get the best seats like Braylen’s mom. At least she’d be here to see me. She always was. That woman was like my surrogate mother, always shoving brownies in my face and giving me those goofy thumbs-up that made Braylen’s cheeks turn red but I secretly cherished.
“I got the scholarship,” I blurted out instead of telling him how disappointed I was that he wouldn’t be here.
“Wonderful. Knew you would.” He cleared his throat, the sound of squeaking leather coming over the line like he was getting out of his car. “Now that you’ve done it, can we put this whole summer internship business to bed?”
I scoffed. “No.”
“Zoey,” he chided. “Don’t you think you’ve proven yourself enough?”
Not even close. “Dad, students would kill to be in the position I am for this internship. They’ve narrowed it down to me and one other candidate. I’m not pulling out now.”
“Your place is with us, at our company. Not fetching coffee for some VP half my age.”
I sighed. The argument never ended. He wanted me to take over the business when he retired, and while I wasn’t opposed to the idea, I was beyond sick and tired of hearing the snide comments behind my back that had followed me for years. The ones where the other kids thought I only ever achieved anything because of my father’s name, or that he threw money at it—just like the girls in the bathroom.
It was utter BS. I never asked my father for anything. I did everything alone. Even my own friends didn’t understand why I worked so hard. Why I chose to study or work or volunteer over going to parties and getting drunk.
Not that a drink didn’t sound downright delightful right now. That would make for an interesting speech.
I jolted, glancing at the time.
“I have to go,” I said and hung up without a goodbye. The argument over the internship could take hours and would end the same way it always did, with one of us leaving the room or the house in order to avoid the other. We never saw eye to eye on it. He couldn’t understand why I didn’t want to work part time at Handler Organix right away, and I couldn’t understand how he was blind to my need to earn a coveted position on my own. To experience something outside of the family business before I had to take it over.
I smoothed my hair down as I walked into the auditorium, hurrying backstage to wait until it was our turn to take the front. Butterflies flapped in my stomach. It didn’t matter that I’d spoken to my class a hundred times in the past four years, this was the big moment. The one I’d worked tirelessly for, the speech to end all speeches. The one that would hopefully inspire my senior class to take advantage of the future and squeeze out every ounce of life possible, as well as put to bed every snide comment ever said about me behind my back.
After the principal, football coach, and Mrs. Rollins had spoken their two cents, it was time. I took my seat to the right of the podium as Gordon sauntered across the stage. Heat flushed my cheeks as he adjusted his suit jacket, showing the pop of lavender—my favorite color—of the button-up shirt beneath it. He’d always been in my life, the best adversary a girl could ever want. He challenged me to do better, push harder, work longer. If I didn’t, I would’ve lost to him 95 percent of the time instead of the dead 50 percent it was now. Hell, I was worried about losing the internship spot to him. I may have won the scholarship, but hopefully he could see the role he played in getting me there.
“As salutatorian,” Gordon said into the microphone, “it is my duty to fully expose to my fellow students…Hampton Eagles, Class of 2017…the true nature of our valedictorian, Zoey Handler, in all her unforgiving glory.”
Something twisted my muscles. Did he just say unforgiving?
“Zoey. What can one really say about her?” he continued. “She’s perfect. You can’t ever say the girl isn’t perfect. Never late to class. Never missed a class. Never gives up. Never lets anyone else have their shot…”
Omigod.
I crossed one leg over the other, glancing at the stage floor. This couldn’t be happening.
“It’s not enough that she’s got an in with one of the largest companies on the west coast, she has to go farther than that. Bigger. Zoey will never settle for easy. You have to give her that. She wants the hard win and will work her butt off to get it, too. No matter who she has to step on in the process.” He flashed those brown eyes toward me, and I crossed my arms to try to stop them from shaking. “So, congratulations, Zoey.” He raised a hand toward me. “You truly are, and will always be, the best of us.”
All the air went out of my lungs, and a flush raked over my skin. My stomach churned as everyone in the audience clapped like he’d complimented me instead of flayed me to the bone. How could they not see that? Sure, he’d had a playful tone, but it wasn’t friendly jabbing. He was hurt, and he took it out on me in front of the entire class and their families. The words he used—he may as well have been the president of the four-years-running nasty rumor club.
Zoey Handler, the spoiled rich girl who gets whatever she wants. Nothing could be further from the truth, and honestly, I thought Gordon knew me better than that. He at least saw how hard I worked for everything, even when it came to besting him. I knew that much from the times he’d be gentle when giving Branch back to me after he’d beaten me. He knew the sting of losing, especially when you worked as hard as we did.
My calves felt like rubber as I forced myself out of my chair and toward the podium. I couldn’t look at Gordon as I passed him; the sting of tears was too close. How could he think I’d stolen something from him? I hadn’t thought I’d done enough until Mrs. Rollins told me I’d been awarded the scholarship. Instead, Gordon had taken my victory as a personal attack on him. Not a matter of an academic board’s decision.
The notecards trembled beneath my fingers as the elation at earning something on my own crumbled. I scanned the audience, the expectant faces awaiting my speech. The words blurred on the lines—words I knew by heart—but in that moment, my heart wasn’t functioning properly. I felt awful and wretched, like some big monopoly man who liked to shit on the little guy.
That’s not me.
“Hampton Eagles, class of 2017.” I forced the words out, but my voice cracked on the loudspeaker from the mic under my mouth. “Good luck.” I managed to choke the words out before I rushed backstage.
The sound of stuttered applause clapped through the thick curtain that shielded me, and once I made sure no one else remained backstage, I let out the breath I’d been holding.
Tears rolled down my cheeks as I sank into an empty chair.
I earned this.
I repeated the mantra over and over as I demanded my senses to get ahold of themselves. I was not this girl. I didn’t cry when I lost. I didn’t cry when things fell apart. I planned. I strategized. I found ways to work the problem.
Right now, that problem was Gordon effin’ Meyers.
When had he not been the problem? The one boy who could actually hack it with me had just stripped me clean in front of the entire senior class. He’d painted a picture that brought a decade’s worth of rumors to the spotlight, and not one of them was true.
And I hated him for it.
I sucked in a sharp breath, swiping the tears beneath my eyes, and smoothed down my hair. My spine straight, my chin high, I nodded to myself.
Work the problem.
An idea hatched in my mind, the pieces of the ultimate revenge coming together like the most beautifully twisted puzzle. He’d pay for robbing me of this moment—the moment I’d worked years for. He’d pay for making me feel no better than the rumors that had followed me my entire life.
He’d pay.
And I’d become exactly who he painted me to be. I’d step on him, and take the internship away from him by any means necessary.
I mean, why not? He already said I did as much anyway. If people wanted to believe that about me—if he of all people believed it—I may as well live up to the image.